ropes
by cedricsowner
Summary: Inspired by the conversation between Guerrero and Winston in the van during "Kill Bob", before Ames and Guerrero break into the building. References to "Run". Winston has a bleak day, the team wants to help. T-rated for language.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement**

They all had phases like that: Times of the year, usually centered around an anniversary of the dreadful kind, in which everything just looked bleak.

On such occasions Ames appeared at the office in the middle of the night under some ridiculous pretext and crashed on the couch in the lounge, hugging her pillow like a stuffed animal. Chance would never tell her that the sobs she cried in her sleep were loud enough to wake him in his bedroom. Some nights it was enough to sneak downstairs and readjust her blanket, others he had to settle down in the armchair opposite from the couch, ready to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder when the tossing and turning got too much.

Ilsa tended to bombard them with one bureaucratic request after another. The others soon found out that the more they not only ignored those requests but actively acted against them, the easier she got back on her feet. One day, for example, she called in an impromptu meeting and informed them that from now on, to better organize the administrative procedures in the office, everybody was supposed to sign a list whenever he or she retrieved supplies from the stationery store.

The same evening she couldn't find a single biro anywhere and had to get one from the store, thus being the first one to sign her own list.

Of course that biro disappeared in no time.

And so did the other five she fetched afterwards. Together with rulers, rubbers, pens, paperclips and two (!) staplers. She signed her name on that list fifteen times before she tossed it in the trash.

Chance and Guerrero shared a bottle or two when times got too difficult, with Winston more often than not joining them, discretely making sure that things didn't get out of hand.

So, they all knew these bad days all too well and they accepted them as part of the territory. But it was nevertheless upsetting to see Winston go through something like that.

He was not only Chance's corner man.

"What about dinner, Mr. Winston? There's this really fine seafood restaurant in Russian Hill…" Ilsa knew he had a thing for crawfish, but crawfish didn't cut it this time.

Ames suggested a movie night. No, there was some stuff he needed to do at home.

Chance got glasses and Bourbon ready. Winston pretended not to notice and left the office.

Sighing deeply, he flopped into the driver's seat of his car. It was not a sigh of relief. Truth to be told, he didn't want to go home. But he didn't want to be at the office either. He didn't want to worry them. It was just one of those nights… he would seek out a bar, order a couple of drinks, get a taxi for the ride home…

The passenger door was yanked open. Someone threw a big black holdall into the back of the car and slumped into the seat next to him. "Go down Van Ness and then turn left into Golden Gate Avenue", Guerrero said.

Of course, Winston objected: "What the….?"

Guerrero merely urged him on with a wordless nod, face unreadable. This could be an emergency, a prank or anything in between, and normally they would have spent the next few minutes discussing it until Guerrero would eventually have his way. Not tonight. Lacking the energy for any kind of argument, Winston started the engine.

Almost an hour later (for whatever reason Guerrero had directed him along a rather circuitous route to get there) he found himself on the rooftop of a ten storey building with Guerrero putting a sit string climbing harness on him.

"Last time I suggested we go climbing all you did was make a crack about my size!"

"This harness was built exactly for your weight", Guerrero replied, making sure Winston's leg loops weren't too tight.

"How the hell do you know what I weigh?"

"Your doctor is using his dog's name as a general password." He threw the rope over the building's ledge.

"What if anybody sees us?"

"Relax, dude. The building belongs to Ilsa."

Winston knew how to rappel. His father had taught him, a lifetime ago. In the last summer before he died, to be exactly. Cool wind from the Bay brushed against his face as he started to descend. Normally he would have been all over the idea of climbing, but tonight it woke unwelcome memories.

_His father had always known what to do. After he had been gone, the ground under his feet had turned slippery. _

The wind shook the rope quite significantly. Winston started sweating. It had been a while after all since his last venture into climbing…

"Everything cool with you, dude?" Guerrero, rappelling down by his side. Winston regained his balance.

_At police academy, climbing had been fun. Why a police man? It had been about solid ground, about knowing what's right and what's wrong. Well, Broward and the other bastards had taken good care of that idea… _

For a split second, Winston lost control of the rope. He recovered it immediately, but the sudden sensation of gravity drawing him earthwards forcefully sent shivers down his spine.

"Isn't it a beautiful night?" Ames, having descended with a gracefulness that spoke of a practiced climber was right by his side now, and so was Guerrero.

_At police academy, he had met Al. Al, who had died doing him a favor, going after people he knew he should have left well alone. He, Winston, had sent him on that suicide mission of going after Wes Gibson and his gang of dirty cops, HE had pushed his buttons, appealed to his honor and sense of justice. Their client had been in mortal danger and in the end they had buried Al. Today was his day of death. _

_No solid ground, just free falling… _

Winston lost control of the rope again, but this time completely, together with his balance. He shot downwards at hair-raising speed.

"Chance!", Guerrero shouted.

Chance, standing on the ground and waiting for them, pulled on Winston's rope. The pulling activated the brake on his friend's rappel device and brought him to an abrupt stop.

"I've got you, Winston."

As Chance slowly lowered him to the ground, Winston looked at the dark blue sky for the first time. Ames was right, it was a beautiful night. Normally the mist from the Bay obscured the stars, but tonight they were gleaming like a silent reassurance from a friend.

_It's okay, Winston. It's okay._

**_A/N: Thank you to tree979, my always reliable thesaurus!_**


End file.
